Insatiable Darkness
by Zyneth
Summary: Three centuries have passed since the fall of Galbatorix as two young Riders begin their training, only to find themselves up against a threat the likes of which Alagaësia has never seen. ****************** "When you come to the edge of all that you know, you must believe one of two things: either there will be ground to stand on, or you will be given wings to fly." -O. R. Melling
1. A Double Hatching in Teirm

It felt like water froze being snapped against his palm. His amazement had been surreal as the egg shook and began to crack, but the moment the dragon's mind touched his, Conall knew that life had never been more real.

It was the eggs' second day in the Alagaësian city-state of Teirm, and both of them had hatched, the first having been in the mid morning; or so it was rumored. The line of children and teens had extended for nearly half a mile on the first day, and one couldn't see the commotion at the line's forefront, which was of uncertain origin even there, as the potential Riders, upon reaching the front of the line, were taken into a special room. Conall's suspicions were only strengthened when he found only one egg and Rider in the large room, rather than the customary two. That, and the fact that the only word Conall could make out that the urgal Rider had bellowed in his excitement was, "Two," which he repeated in his native tongue several times before growing silent as the dragon issued its first cry and, moments later, a silvery gedwëy ignasia appeared on Conall's flesh.

A pair of men, magicians sworn into service of the Riders, stepped forward. One rushed to assist the urgal, while the other exited to order the crowd to disperse, confirming in what he said that both eggs had indeed hatched. Conall carefully lifted the winged lizard, realizing in the back of his mind that he would likely never be capable of lifting it again, and the magician hurried to gather the newly broken shell, a common keepsake. Even now, the dragon was nearly too heavy to be held, even by a boy of Conall's great stature.

"Tell me your name... Rider," the deep voiced urgal ordered. Conall did so, realizing only a second later that he had been addressed as, 'Rider.' _I'm a Rider_, he thought. The thought was incredible. "Come!" Grintzintog, for that was the urgal's name, led Conall to a table, upon which laid a sheet of paper and a pen. Using fantastic glyphs that Conall couldn't understand, but guessed were elvish, Grintzintog began writing. After a moment, he began narrating his writing, clearly for the boy's benefit. Conall did his best to find a pattern in the shape of the symbols. "Human. Male. Age?"

It took him a second to realize that the last item had actually been a question. "Sixteen," he answered, promptly following with his exact birthday. This time, the curving script looked remarkably like the numbers Conall was used to.

"White skin," the Rider said, resuming his narrated writing. "Brown hair. Brown eyes... Measure him," the urgal told his assistant. And to Conall, "Let me see your dragon." As Conall reluctantly handed the incredible reptile to the seasoned Rider, he heard him whisper, in a voice softer than he had thought urgals possessed, "Eka aí fricai un Shur'tugal."

For the next couple of hours, Conall was asked every manner of question after question, which he answered with more unwavering honesty than most people would ever have had this been in any other circumstance. "I am going to enter your mind," the Rider warned him. Conall forced an exclamation of exasperation to stop in his throat. _Why even bother with questions in the first place, then_, he wondered. It was a mildly traumatizing experience, though not as bad as he had feared. After all, he prized his mind above all else. Yet the Rider looked troubled. "Fetch Freyona" he said to the magician, who immediately exited through a side door. Before long, a slightly masculine elf woman entered the room. "Freyona, something in his mind confuses me. I thought that as an elf, you might understand it." Without a word, she lifted her shining palm to Conall's forehead and he felt a distinctly different sensation, mildly less rough than the first, though possibly more intense. He heard music, a strange, unearthly music. Now he could feel her probing his knowledge of his family tree. He saw his mother, and then her mother, both as he knew them, followed by the painting by which he knew his great grandmother. It looked funny, as usual. It had been said that she was descended from elves...

The room appeared before him again, and he blinked twice. "Was it her mother or father?" asked the elf.

"I don't know, ebrithilar," he answered. She raised her eyebrows at his use of her own language, mildly surprised.

"Well well, Conall-finiarel, it appears that you have an elf four or five generations back in your family." If Conall hadn't been nearly incapable of blushing, he would have at that suffix. "Come. If the girl is done with her fitting, we may begin yours."

"Men never take as long as women," the urgal said to him as they led Conall to another room, where a tailor awaited him. For what, he could only guess. "Then, you may see your family and the other initiate before getting a good night's rest in preparation for tomorrow's journey!"

* * *

Conall's heart sank as he hugged his family one last time. If he were lucky, he may see them in a year. Still, it was too long.

As was done with every initiate, the Riders gathered as much information on his genealogy as his family and government records could supply, the only thing that was of much note to him being that the elf he had descended from had apparently died in an accident over a century earlier, a few decades after the reestablishment of the Dragon Riders. As Rider Freyona completed the customary documentation, she said, "I was surprised to learn that you were both distantly part elf."

"Both?" he asked, curled up on the carpet with his dragon, which he had yet to name, though had discovered to be male.

"The girl," she replied. "I think I hear Grintzintog with her and the other hatchling now." The door opened, and Rider Grintzintog appeared with a dragon that was likely a female, if size was any indicator; which it was. Then Conall saw the girl.

Her hair was brown, like his, but had been just slightly more bleached by the sun. It fell freely in long curls and ended just below her shoulder blades, bunched together in countless coils. Her eyes were a rich yet milky chocolate. He noticed a slightly pointed chin, a nose with a bridge that extended a bit further than his own, and mildly pink lips. She wore simple earrings that dangled just slightly below her earlobes and a ring on her left hand, much like many young girls wore until betrothed. Her cream soft skin was untainted by any makeup. She was a head shorter than Conall. Diane, just as he had always known her.


	2. A Nïdhwal and a Werecat

Even for two people with shared interests, mutual friends, and a similar upbringing, it was uncanny how often Conall and Diane found themselves in the same place. Ten years ago he had moved from the outskirts of town to the main of the city. Later that year, she'd moved from another part of the city to the house next to the one that had been his just weeks before. It wasn't for another two years that they met for the first time.

Three years ago, she'd moved back to the city and they had both attended a prestigious school towards the center of the town, above the library that, as rumor had it, was run by the Arcaena. The likelihood of them both leaving that stage of their life to become dragon Riders together was neigh on impossible. The two of them had become good friends at the library, and the scholars that taught there all praised them on being the greatest students they'd ever taught. Naturally, there was a bit of rivalry there, but they were still friends. Were. The past couple months had been odd. Diane had started avoiding him, and he had no idea why.

"Whatever it is, I hope it goes away soon," he said, stroking the brilliant scales of his still nameless dragon. He was being housed in a fancy room at the center of the city; Diane, the Riders, and their magicians in others scattered about the regal hallway. Conall lay on his bed, trying to sort through all of his thoughts. The dragon lay next to him, curled up against him like a cat. Cat! A wave of grief struck Conall, made only worse by the guilt of not having thought of his cat, Revilo, until just now. Of everything in Teirm, he'd miss his pet cat the most. He had a dragon now though, and it was truly a beautiful creature. Its scales we're an odd color, and incredibly iridescent. Primarily gold from one angle, and silver from another, with small bits of red, blue, and green scattered about in such a way that a color seemed to change whenever he blinked. It looked as if the colors of the scales were determined by a myriad of colors suspended in a thin layer of constantly shifting liquid just below the surface. Of course that wasn't really the case, but that only made his dragon all the more mesmerizing.

"What should I name you?" he asked it. The only answer the dragon gave was a funny noise from its throat, its approval of the way the human's hand stroked its scaly flank. "How about Zyneth? Does that sound good?" The dragon chirped and purred. "You like that boy? Do you like that?" The dragon seemed to nod its head once, blue-brown eyes meeting Conall's, before tucking its head underneath a wing.

"Goodnight Zyneth."

* * *

"The sun will be up soon; we must prepare to depart!"

Conall groaned as the urgal banged on his door. Looking around, he was surprised to see a change of clothes sitting on the bedside table. They were a bit unusual, probably designed for traveling. He had nothing else clean with him, so he donned them. Then a problem occurred to him. How do you wake a sleeping dragon without losing a hand or getting toasted? "Very carefully," came the elf's voice from the other side of the door, as if she had read his thoughts, "but he can't breathe fire yet."

"You hungry, Zyneth?" he asked, carefully, slowly, and gently stroking the dragon, which rolled over to expose its belly. Conall started to rub it, but leapt back as the dragon sneezed. The tiniest whiff of smoke escaped its mouth. Hopping up, it followed the smell of food out of the room, forcing Conall to chase after it.

Once the four Riders were, and once they'd had a bite to eat, or many bites in the case of the dragons, the urgal turned to the two younger Riders and asked, "Can either of you ride a horse?" They both shook their heads. "Well, flying is faster anyway," he grunted. The group traveled to the edge of town, where the two fully-grown dragons lay in wait.

Conall fell into step with Diane, who was focusing intently on her dragon. He indulged her preoccupancy for a second, gazing too at her soon-to-be mount. Its scales bore a larger amount of silver than Zyneth's, and though it was mostly purple, the tip of its tail was red, and its eyes a luminescent emerald green. A very pink tongue, Conall observed. "What's her name?" he asked. "It _is_ a girl, right?"

"Freytha," Diane responded after a moment.

"That's pretty. I named him Zyneth," Conall said, gesturing to the dragon playing with Freytha.

"Hmm."

As Conall tried to think of something else to say, a loud boom reverberated throughout the city. Screams followed the sound of several large crashes. A massive roar rent the dawn mist as the temperature momentarily soared. A fully-grown dragon, bright orange like the fire it spewed, landed next to them. Freyona leapt onto it's back and the two teens were blown backwards by the gust of wind created as the dragon took off.

"Drajl!" Grintzintog swore. "You! With me!" he ordered, pointing a finger at the two initiates. A menacing dark brown dragon landed next to them. It was nearly three times larger than Freyona's orange one. With a single massive leap, the urgal mounted. "Hand me your dragons!" he bellowed. Conall grabbed Zyneth and tried to calm him as he used all of his strength to lift the hatchling high above his head. The urgal grabbed it in one massive hand and strapped the reptile to the saddle. Then Conall ran to Diane, who was struggling to stay upright with the weight of a dragon in her arms.

"Conall, I can..." Conall didn't bother to respond, but simply took the frightened dragon from her and handed it to the urgal, who made room for it.

"Now reach and I'll pull you up into the saddle!" Grintzintog instructed.

"Diane, you first. Go, now!" She threw Conall a funny look, but reached for the urgal. If she lunged, the urgal might could pull her up, but it occurred to Conall that she could break her arm if she tried it. He knew that she would resent him for helping her, but he couldn't let himself do nothing. Too quickly for her to react, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up. Once she was settled behind the urgal, Conall jumped and grabbed the urgal's arm with both of his own, and the Rider lifted him into place like he weighed no more than a doll.

"What was that?" Diane demanded.

"I was just trying to help."

"Strap yourselves in," roared the urgal. Conall and Diane hastily fumbled with the straps, praying that they had them properly secured. The urgal's bellow, though nearly as loud as that of the elf's dragon, was dwarfed by that of his own majestic mount. The sensation that followed was unlike anything Conall had experienced before. He was flying!

But the amazement was short lived, for as the coastline came into sight, he saw dozens of ships smashed, flaming, and in the general process of sinking. There was something in the water. Then it leapt from the blue depths, and Conall felt the breath leave his lungs. It was _massive_! "Drajl!" Grintzintog spat, the dragon mimicking its Rider's action in a spectacular gush of flame. "A nïdhwal, so close to shore? It should not be possible!" Then the elf's orange dragon issued a terrible screech. The sea serpent had latched its jaws around an ankle, and the poor dragon struggled helplessly. "No!" the urgal howled, and they went racing to Freyona's aid. Massive talons gripped the smaller dragon by the base of the neck and, with herculean effort, lifted the injured dragon from the water until the sea serpent was forced to let go of it, landing back in the water with a splash large enough to capsize several more boats. The orange dragon fell from the other's claws, crashing onto the land just past the docks. Grintzintog leapt off his dragon and landed twenty feet later, racing over to his fallen comrade. "Jierda," he commanded, and the two young Riders, with their dragons, fell from their harnesses. Picking themselves up, they ran to help the urgal, who was trying to pull the half dead elf out from under the maimed dragon.

"We... we must stop the monster," she sputtered, coughing up blood. With some sort of spell, her crushed legs slipped out from under the dragon's bulk.

"If you fight now, you will never fight again," cautioned the other Rider.

"I know," said the elf, touching his face, "but we must help these people."

"Then I shall assist you!"

"No, you must get them to safety," she said, pointing to Conall and Diane.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance," said a sweet voice off to the side. Though it made no sense, the voice seemed to be coming from a cat. Conall thought that she resembled his cat's younger sister, who had died two years ago. Or so he thought, for in every way she resembled their old cat, Angel. Conall was speechless.

"You can do this, werecat?" questioned the urgal.

"Aye."

"Angel!" Conall exclaimed, finding his voice and running to pick up and hug the cat he had so long mourned. She allowed him to, but clearly with a measure of reluctance.

"Please, call me Softpaws," the werecat said, wriggling out of his arms.

"Wait, does this mean that..."

"There is no time for questions," croaked the elf, as she miraculously got to her feet. "Go with the werecat."

_"Wait,"_ said a deep rumbling voice in their heads, _"if this is to be my final stand, then let these two not depart without my blessing."_ The mental voice seemed to be coming from the injured dragon. For a moment Conall thought it was about to cough up a hairball, but then something else appeared to come forth from its great jaws; a great orange stone, pulsing with light. The urgal took it and placed it in his pack, which he gave to the children. _"Though I will be gone soon, guard it as you would guard my own life,"_ the dragon commanded.

Conall and Diane were dumbfounded, but now wasn't the time for questions. "Take this ring as well," Grintzintog said, pulling something from his massive finger. Handing it to Conall, it shrank in size so as to fit the boy's finger. "Head for the mountain pass near Woadark Lake. If I do not catch up to you, seek out my kinsfolk who roam the valley; they should not be difficult to spot. Show them that ring, and they will know that you are friend to the Urgralgra. If I am not there in a week, head to Du Weldenvarden without me. Once at Osilon, the elves will take you to Arya dröttning, who will begin your training." A large chunk of the dock crashed into the waves, filling the sky with droplets of water that rained down on them.

"Go! Now!" the elf shouted. With the help of her friend, she strapped herself into the dragon's saddle. The urgal mounted his great brown with one incredible bound.

"Follow me," said Angel the cat... or Softpaws the werecat, taking Conall and Diane each by a hand until she was sure that they were following. After turning a couple corners, and mightily frightening a coop of chickens, Softpaws leapt onto the head of a trio of mules strapped to a small wagon. Conall, Diane, Zyneth, and Freytha scrambled in even as the cart began moving at a surprising pace. "I don't care how stubborn you are little mule, you _will_ pull this cart for me," the werecat purred threateningly.

In five minutes they were at the town gates, and it was over an hour later when the distant roars of the dragon ceased entirely. "Do you think he's ok?" Diane asked.

Softpaws meowed. "Grintzintog is a mighty warrior, one of the first urgal Riders. But then again, the large fish was close to shore. It is too big for us to eat, so it should not be here." They didn't press the question.

"If you're a werecat," Conall started, "does that mean that Revilo and the rest of your litter are werecats.

"Revilo? Oh, you mean he of the Brokentail? Yes, of course they are." Before he had even been weaned, Revilo had gotten caught in a clump of brambles and had gotten a tail crooked at the tip to show for it. "Now rest, my kittens, for the journey before us is a long one."

It felt weird being called a kitten by one of the two cats that he himself had raised, but he was just glad to find her alive; all of them, for that matter.

The two dragons were cuddled up together, and Conall felt something funny in the pit of his gut. He wished he could talk to Diane, but she was still ignoring him. He missed her. Maybe, whenever the dragons were old enough to communicate more than simple feelings, he could get Zyneth to find out from Freytha why that was. Having stayed up late the night before only to be woken at dawn, he decided to see if he could get any sleep in such a cramped and jostling cart.


	3. Why Him?

It was nearly impossible to sleep with the rocking of the cart, which trudged on for over twenty-four hours, stopping only briefly for bathroom breaks, which were quite challenging out in the open, before they reached the foothills. Diane kept turning her head as she squatted behind the wagon, afraid to see Conall looking at her. He never was. Except in the wagon, where she could feel his gaze with the back of her neck.

Why did it have to be him? A year ago it would have seemed so quaint, both of them on their way to becoming Riders, but now... now she would have taken anyone else. She kept ignoring his attempts at conversation, and every time she tried to speak with Softpaws, he would try to join in. Couldn't he take a hint? Once or twice she snuck a glance at him, and it bugged her that almost every time she did, his gaze was ready to meet hers.

By noon of the second day he had begun to catch on, and he didn't try to speak to her a single time as they stopped for Softpaws to rest. Nor did he address her as they resumed their journey in the late evening. _If only the wagon were larger_, she thought. They were well into the foothills now, and every few minutes a large bump knocked them into each other. It was especially bad when one or both of them were deep asleep, and she had to stop herself from screaming one time when that happened and she found herself almost snuggled up with him. All the other girls in Teirm seemed to live for cuddling with somebody, but the mere thought made Diane's stomach turn. Anything but.

Their pace was treacherously slow, and it wasn't until the third day that they ran across any urgals. Two young kull looked to be fighting to kill and, much to Diane's relief, Softpaws had felt it best to go around them and find someone who was more likely to be reasonable.

As the sun was setting, they finally spotted smoke in the distance. Having doubled their pace to reach it before noon, at which time Softpaws insisted upon stopping to rest for a catnap, they were relieved to see that they had indeed reached an urgal village. "Do either of you speak any urgal?" Softpaws asked as they approached. "I find the sounds distasteful and have made sure not to learn it myself."

"Just two or three words," Diane said, knowing that wouldn't do them any good. It was the same for Conall.

"Urgralgra!" Softpaws hailed as three heavily armored kull came to intercept them. "We are friends of Grintzintog. He was held up by a terrible beast off the shores of Teirm, and I offered to help deliver the Rider's two charges to his people.

Conall and Diane ungracefully clamored out of the tiny wooden vehicle, along with their dragons, which fluttered down with a bit more style. "Eka aí fricai un Shur'tugal," Diane and Conall both said, the latter showing Grintzintog's ring to the urgals.

"We do not speak the language of the sly elves, but we see that you are a friend of the urgralgra's champion and that you travel in the company of tiny dragons and a werecat. The elder will wish to speak with you."

"That works," Conall mumbled as they followed them to the edge of a large fire where several large deer were being cooked. As they approached, a haggard and ancient kull turned to look at them and their dragons. They knelt, except for the werecat, and Diane explained their situation as Conall presented the ring.

"Nar-urgralgra," she began hesitantly, "the great Rider Grintzintog sent us here to request your assistance. He was to deliver us to Du Weldenvarden to begin our training, but a terrible beast attacked the people of Teirm, and his friend, the elf Freyona, was gravely injured in battle. He said that it was necessary for him to stay and slay the beast, and that he would find us in these mountains near Fläm within a week. It has been nearly half that time, and we have heard nothing of him. Noble Softpaws agreed to deliver us to the great Rider's people, which she has. Grintzintog said that you could deliver us to the elves if he continued to be delayed."

"He also gave us his ring as proof that it was he who sent us," Conall added, pulling it from his finger and offering it for the elder to examine.

"The werecats have no quarrel with any race nor with the Riders, and I assure you that they speak the truth," Softpaws concluded.

The elder was silent for a moment, but eventually nodded and addressed the three armored kull in their own language, and they quickly hurried away to attend to whatever orders they had just been given. Turning back to the travelers, he (or was it a she?) said, "Nar-Grintzintog is one of the greatest champions the urgralgra have ever had. It troubles me that he has so long been delayed, but we will indeed grant his request. You may remain with us until a week has passed. If by such time nothing has been heard of Nar-Grintzintog, we will send you on your way with escorts from our own village. Though our resources are few, we shall do our best to make you comfortable."

Diane and Conall bowed deeply, and even Softpaws slightly inclined her feline head. "You have our thanks," Conall said. The elder acknowledged him.

They were about to follow the three kull, who had returned to show them to their tent, when the elder put a hand on Conall's shoulder to stay him. "You are forgetting Grintzintog's ring," she- for it indeed seemed more like a she- said, holding it before him. She saw his hesitation, and before he could object, she said, "If Nar-Grintzintog gave his ring to you, then it should remain yours until such time as he returns to reclaim it." Conall bowed again before following Diane.

The kull led them to a tent that could easily accommodate two humans and a werecat, though Diane doubted that Softpaws would really choose to spend her time there. Upon opening the front flap, they found two thin straw mats and little else. At least it was better than the wagon. Freytha immediately crawled in and stared at Diane expectantly. Seeing that their few belongings had already been moved from wagon to tent, Diane joined her, straightening the poles Freytha had knocked askew with her ever-increasing bulk.

Both of the dragons had grown to at least twice their original size in the few days since they had hatched, and now only a fully-grown kull would be strong enough to lift them. They would likely need to sleep outside after a day or two with the urgals, who had already begun throwing them scraps of food.

"Diane?" came Conall's voice

"What?" she asked, too tired from nearly a week of poor sleep to be terse.

"Have you been able to communicate with Freytha very well?"

"Just a little," she said, honestly a bit curious about the mental development of dragons herself. "She knows what I mean when I talk to her, though."

"Yeah, the connection seems more vivid than it did a few days ago," Conall agreed. "I don't think it'll be much longer until they can really communicate," he mused. At that moment, both of them felt a strong sense of confirmation from their dragons. Diane smiled in spite of herself.

All was quiet for a few minutes until Conall started to say something only to be interrupted by Diane. "I'm really tired Conall, I think I'm going to try and get some sleep."

"Alright," came his soft reply.


	4. The Duel

Conall could swear that Zyneth had actually wished him a good morning when he got out of the tent the next day. He had no chance to dwell on it though, because it was just then that Freytha discovered what happens when you fan a fire. After they managed to get it under control and rouse half the village in the process, the chieftain advised a quick breakfast before she sent them off to train with one of her kin.

It was messy. They'd trained a little before, but at the moment, both young Riders were doing a terrible job of working together, and their single opponent easily fended the duo off, giving them more cuts and bruises than Conall cared to count. The dragons had more luck, winning themselves an absolutely monstrous stag for lunch.

"You're supposed to hold it like this," Diane told Conall, taking a stance with the dulled blade the urgals had given her to practice with.

"I can control it perfectly fine like this," Conall insisted, brandishing a similar sword with one hand while eating with the other.

"Then prove it."

"I haven't even finished eating yet!" he protested, but reluctantly shoved the last bit of food into his mouth as he took a couple steps back to give him more room to maneuver. His sparring partner wasted no time. Conall barely had enough time to block Diane's first swing. Or her second. Or her third. Then he swung. Diane blocked it, but winced at the force of the blow.

Her counter nicked his waist, but not enough to deter him. It was enough to quell his fear of hurting her though. The increased force of his blows soon forced her to use both hands at all times, for fear of having her weapon knocked from her hands. Though her advantage of speed was greatly reduced, her accuracy seemed to improve.

By this time a small crowd had gathered to watch the two raw Riders duel. In what his waning strength feared may be his last chance to execute a truly powerful attack, Conall swung his sword in an arc over his head, bringing it down on hers with both hands and putting his weight into it. Her knees buckled beneath her. For a split second Conall thought he'd won. Diane, unsurprisingly, tripped him.

Conall rolled over, but was too winded to get up at more than a snail's pace. He thought Diane's speed would finish him off, and was surprised when the lazy block he mustered stopped her blade in its tracks. She had switched hands! Suddenly unable to wield a weapon with it, her right rested tucked up against her body. Conall struggled to lift his blade, and could only manage to swing it here and there. But Diane was really starting to tire too; and she wasn't left handed. That's when she stopped slicing and started stabbing. It didn't take Conall long to realize that he didn't have the stamina to evade much more than every other thrust, so he did the last thing he could think of. Feigning a heavy blow to throw her off- he didn't have the strength or speed to properly follow through anyway- he physically tackled her to the ground.

It stung to open his eyes as he lay there, and relief washed through him as their assigned trainer shouted, "Enough!" Diane groaned in relief next to him even as he did the same. After they were assessed for injuries and treated (which did them little good, having less than half the pain tolerance of their hosts), they thought they'd check out a group of urgal children who were playing a game that didn't appear to involve too much crushing. It was sort of like marbles. At first the urgal children were reluctant to allow the humans to play with them, but one frustrated huff from a dragon and they quickly complied.

After dinner, they sat around the central fire and silently competed in not being the first to go to bed. Upon the urgals getting an urge to dance, however, they set aside their differences for the greater good and retired to the tent for their own safety.

Conall lay on his sleeping mat and watched the shadows of the two dragons playing outside as he gently rubbed the mark on his right palm. He still wasn't used to it. He remembered how Diane had hurt her hand in their duel, and asked her how it felt. Her reply barely acknowledged his question, much less his genuine concern. So he lay there, thinking back over the months, trying to figure out how to pose the question he'd been dying to know an answer to for some time now. He decided on directly.

"Diane, what ever happened between us?"

"Nothing," was her unsatisfactory reply.

"I don't buy that for a second. We used to be friends. What ever caused you to hate me?"

"I don't hate you, Conall," she said tiredly and a bit condescendingly, but Conall wasn't going to leave it at that.

"We used to be friends," he repeated, "what happened to that?"

No response.

"Please Diane," he begged. "I... I don't know, I guess... I just miss you." He couldn't make out the expression on her face, but he felt the pain etched onto every inch of his.

Finally she turned on her side to face him. "Can't you take a hint?"

"No, I can't."

"Conall," she sighed, "I'm not interested in a relationship." It certainly wasn't the answer he'd expected.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I just said."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you have a crush on me, Conall. I'm not interested."

Her answer stunned him speechless. After a minute, "I what?" As he realized what she was saying, he began to laugh. "You think I have a crush on you," he exclaimed, "that I like you? Hate to break it to you, but I've never thought of you as anything more than a friend."

It was her turn to be confused. "What?"

"I've never liked you in any way other than as a friend," he repeated.

Diane hated admitting she was wrong, but Conall's eye contact, his tone of voice, he was entirely sincere. "Oh."

"And even if I did like... like-like you, you wouldn't have to hate me. Geez."

"I said I don't hate you."

"Good. So can we be friends again?"

"What?"

"Go back to being friends, like we used to. I mean we've really got to work together, now that we're Riders." He laughed. "We're Riders!"

"Wow, I guess we are. As long as..." but they both knew what she meant. It had been nearly a week and they hadn't heard a word from Grintzintog, nor any other Rider. Why?


	5. Troubling Tidings

Within two days the dragons had crossed a major threshold in speech. It just about gave the some of the older urgals heart attacks. Of course, this was nothing to the mass panic that followed their discovery of flight early one morning. It wasn't pretty. There was a lot of fluttering about like chickens, albeit very majestic chickens, as well as a fair bit of crash-landing. Tent poles littered the camp, and a couple of the huts very quickly descended into a state of considerable disrepair.

"Zyneth, down boy!"

_"I'm not a dog,"_ the dragon spat angrily.

"Then stop acting like one," Conall retorted. Zyneth huffed.

Their first argument, yet another major threshold. They were still getting used to this, especially Conall, who wasn't used to communicating through thought. Diane and Freytha were little better. There was a notable improvement when the two Riders began to actually communicate with each other, though. Their gedwëy ignasias and dragons were topics that they were both particularly eager to discuss, and such conversations nearly always helped lift any negative tension. They were both learning at such an incredible rate, and the near doubling of that rate was too intoxicating for either to resist, despite occasional anger towards one another.

The morning before the passing of a week, the two Riders were rinsing off their outer clothes in the lake when a shifting in the water startled them. Hearing their alarm, Zyneth and Freytha were instantly at their partners' side. A murky image of Rider Grintzintog materialized in place of their reflection, and it spoke to them.

"You both look well," the urgal said, "You found my village?"

"Y-yes. How are you...?"

"That doesn't matter right now," said the urgal. "Is there anyone else in earshot?

"A few people. But I don't think they speak..."

"That doesn't matter. Have your dragons clear the area. Scare them off. No one else must hear, not even the elder."

Though confused, Zyneth and Freytha were already on top of things, roughhousing and thoroughly frightening even the bravest kull.

"They've grown much. Good," Grintzintog said as Freytha growled at a couple of urgals who had prematurely assumed that the reptiles had calmed down. "Do you still have the pack I gave you, is it safe? Any my ring?"

"Yes, in our tent," Diane said. "We haven't touched it," she added, as Conall held up the ring.

"Good, but from now on keep it strapped to a dragon at all times. Listen carefully; inside the pack you will find a map, a container of salve, a bag of coins, and a dragon saddle." Zyneth made a noise of unease. "Adjust it for the larger of the two dragons, so that both of you may mount as he runs. This is how you must ride until he is large enough to carry you both in the sky, or until you can make a second saddle. Pay my people to help replenish as many supplies as you and your dragons can safely carry. But whatever you do, you must not touch the el… ahem, the great orange stone."

"We're leaving?" Conall asked, confused. "You're almost here, then."

"You are to leave the moment the sun has left its peak," the Rider ordered in all urgency. "Do _not _forget water. Even our great leader, Eragon II, can tell of how he nearly perished from thirst.

"Every Rider's path is wrought with danger," Grintzintog continued. The way the urgal looked at them as he said this made the back of Conall's neck prickle. "That is why there is one more thing," the Rider continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "A gilded dagger. Keep it on your person at all times," he commanded, focusing momentarily on Diane. "Do not unsheathe it unless you intend to kill."

Both Conall and Diane had begun to break into a cold sweat. "What's going on? What are we...?"

"Listen, do not speak. Head for Rider outpost at the southernmost tip of the North Sea, between Carvahall and Ceunon. Travel alone." Here the urgal paused. "Rumors of a great new danger are everywhere. Since the day you left I have seen terrors that I never thought I'd face. All will be explained once you are safe with The Riders. Until then... godspeed."

With a ripple, the ethereal image vanished from the water. After a moment's silence, they all started speaking at once. Soon an argument had broken out, and they began to draw unwanted attention to themselves.

_"Enough!"_ came the voice of Zyneth as he silenced the other three with a roar. _"All that matters now is that we do what our wise teacher has told us to. Freytha, you and Diane will gather supplies. Conall and I shall figure out this... saddle... that he spoke of. And hurry!"_ No one argued.

The saddle didn't turn out to be so terrible as Zyneth had feared, especially once Conall found a small book that appeared to be a manual for young Riders, which included a few notes on saddles. He made a mental note to show it to Diane later. Conall was just testing the last strap when the other two returned, followed by the village elder and several armed guards.

"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded. "Nar-Grintzintog told you to wait for-"

"He has given us new orders, nar-urgralgra," Conall explained, hopping down.

"Have I missed something?" Softpaws, seemingly from out of nowhere, had suddenly joined them.

"Apparently," the elder complained, "nar-Grintzintog has mysteriously instructed them to leave by means of a magical lake."

"Do you mean that the lake told them to leave, or that they are to travel across it?" Softpaws questioned. "If I were you though, I would listen to the lake. It has good fish."

The two humans weren't the only ones confused by the werecat. As the urgal elder began to debate with the werecat on what lakes could and couldn't do, Conall managed to quietly slip Diane the gem-encrusted dagger in its sheathe, which she immediately strapped around her waist. After securing the supplies, Conall clamored onto Zyneth's back and tried to find a spacious way to fit into the saddle. Once he decided that he'd made all the room that he could, he reached down to offer Diane a handhold, which she took. It wasn't until she was seated behind Conall that the urgals realized that they were really about to leave.

"You're sure about this, Rider?"

"Yes," Diane answered as Conall handed her the small bag of gold to give the elder while he examined the map one last time. "You have been very kind to us, and we will not forget it."

"Then luck be with you, Riders."

"Are you coming, Softpaws?" Conall asked the white cat.

"I don't think so," the feline mused. "As I was explaining to the horned ones, the lake has very good fish. But I imagine I'll see you in Elesméra, or wherever fate decides to reunite us." With that, she sauntered off, with only a brief, "Watch your tails," presumably directed at the dragons.

Freytha snorted in acknowledgement. She wasn't happy about not being the one to carry Diane, but she knew that she wasn't quite big enough to carry both Riders herself. _"What's so important about the saddle, anyway?" _she huffed.

"No idea," Diane muttered. And with a wave, they were off.

_"You three look ridiculous,"_ Freytha jibed, _"two people riding a dragon as it _runs_."_ Upon being ignored, she added, _"Well, your whole spiel about not forgetting their kindness sounded funny."_

"Riders are supposed to be dignified. Conall did it too."

"So you were basically following my example," Conall stated more than asked, though there was a spark of humor in the way he said it.

"No!"

_"This is going to be a _long_ trip,"_ Zyneth groaned.


	6. Kill the Riders

A few days ago Diane would have panicked at the thought of having to hold on to Conall to stay put, and absolutely freaked at the prospect of sharing a sleeping bag with any boy. She still wasn't thrilled about it, but it really helped to have the reassurance that he never thought of them as more than friends. She still couldn't wrap her head around it though. It had seemed so obvious that he did. Maybe she was just paranoid, like Freytha had said. Was it really logical to prefer walking halfway across Alagaësia to sharing a camp cot—half the size the one from the urgal village, mind you—with a guy, just because he liked you? Maybe, but Conall was a good person. Usually; but she wasn't perfect either... usually. No, that went against the definition of perfect. All the same, when she thought about it she knew he'd never attack her or anything. And he had the decency to keep on his undershirt as they settled down for the night, all things considered; wearing a tunic to bed was a lot to ask anyone. Not that that made her feel any less awkward as she took hers off. Which was hardly rational, really. It wasn't like she didn't have a shirt and a little something on underneath. No different from the sleeping arrangements the past fortnight, she reminded herself. Except that tighter quarters meant touching, and she'd never been much of a touchy-feely person, even with her best friend or her little sister.

She insisted on making a small slit on either side of the bag before getting in, and Conall didn't object. Urgals had big bodies, but two humans combined were still bigger unless they completely spooned each other, which she was not about to do for anything in the world.

_"Well that looks awfully cozy," _Freytha noted. Diane just scoffed. The dragons sure didn't have a problem with... intimacy. Why was everything so much harder when you had two legs? Freytha had an answer for that too, which didn't really make much sense to her young Rider.

"Oh, hey," Conall said out of nowhere. He sounded excited. "I found this book in the bag Rider Grintzintog gave us that I've been meaning to show you. I haven't had time to do more than skim the first couple of pages, but it looks like some sort of manual for new Riders.

Diane turned to face him, only to once again be reminded of how close they were to each other. All such insecurities vanished the moment she saw the book, which appeared to have been painstakingly written by hand. There was just enough room for them to both lie on their stomachs and examine it together by lantern light. "This is incredible," she exhaled softly. Four sets of runes filled page upon page of beautiful illustrations: Human, Elvish, Dwarvish, and Urgal. The similarities in the languages were immediately more evident than they'd ever seemed to her before. Many of the symbols—especially those presumably used by dwarves—were similar enough to pronounce bits of, though most of the sounds had little meaning to her as she and Conall tried to form them with their lips and tongue. The elvish glyphs were different though. Almost nothing held any resemblance to anything she knew. Occasionally seeing them side to side with the other languages told her that she should know a few of the words, but where one sentence seemed to correlate in elvish and human, another didn't. She knew nothing of elvish syntax. Conall was little help there, knowing about the same amount that she did. To be bluntly honest, the one sentence they said upon meeting the urgals was by far the most complex they knew, and they were probably pronouncing it poorly to boot.

One language they were fluent in, though, and what they read held their attention from one page to the next—occasionally coming across a small trinket like a pressed flower matching an illustration or a scrap of amazingly soft fur that would make for an excellent sweater—until the lantern provided little more than a dim glow.

After a while they came across a page with an incredible timeline spanning nearly ten thousand years. The dates, however, were based on a system that they were not familiar with. "'5596 AC,'" Conall read. "'A ship carrying the first humans lands on the Surdan coast. The humans trade with the dwarves, then leave, only returning in 7203 AC.' AC? What does that mean?"

"Well look at this bit. It says that Galbatorix claimed power in 7900. That would have been about year one hundred BBRW, so four hundred years ago, which puts our oldest records of King Palancar at, by this calendar..." She exchanged a glance with Conall. "Seven-thousand-two-hundred?!" It was staggering to think that there were thousands of years of history that their race, always the dominant one in their minds, knew nothing of.

"Who wrote it?" Diane wondered aloud. "It must've been early in the first century ABRW." Flipping back to the beginning, they carefully looked for anything they might have missed.

_"There,"_ said Zyneth, nudging the book with his snout, which wasn't really the best way to point. But there it was, plain as day:

_A gift for my friend, Grintzintog-finiarel, one of the most promising young Riders I've had the privilege to meet. __-Eragon Bromson_

Diane didn't realize that she'd stopped breathing until she started to get woozy from lack of oxygen. Conall's reaction was much louder. "Eragon Shadeslayer! _The_ Eragon! Like from our history books back home, the leader of the Riders!" Flipping through the book again, they paused when several slivers of what looked ominously like bone slipped out of one of the books many hidden pouches. Three carved symbols stuck out: a loop, a lightning bolt, and what looked like a snake. The dragons growled at the objects, and Diane quickly helped Conall put them away before turning to another page.

* * *

The sun rose much too early for Diane's liking. "So, Gil'ead or Daret?" Conall asked, for they were about a day's journey from both now that they had left the foothills. They decided on the larger city, which was more likely to carry supplies to make a second dragon saddle with, which all four of them were eager for, seeing as they wouldn't be able to fly as dragon and Rider without it. Regardless, Freytha insisted that she got chance to fly with Diane whenever they stopped for the night which, though it was a hassle to reattach the dragon saddle, was only fair. As long as Zyneth got such a chance to fly with Conall, of course.

They continued to browse through the book as Zyneth ran at a speed to shame most horses. Gil'ead came into view just before nightfall. "I can see it!" Conall exclaimed, rousing Diane from her attempted nap, forehead leaning against Conall's right shoulder. She was immensely embarrassed to see that she had drooled on him a little.

The city's main gate was closed, but for some reason there was a gaping hole in the wall right next to it that had been converted into a second entrance. The Riders dismounted. There was no one in sight, but sounds could be heard coming from further towards the heart of the city. Seeing a tanner's shop, they entered to find it empty save for a young girl behind the counter who looked to be less than ten years of age.

"Excuse me," Diane said, "Do you have anything that could be used to make a... particularly large saddle?"

The girl's eyes widened as she stared at something over the duo's heads. "For the dragon?" she asked timidly. Freytha had apparently stuck her head through the tiny entranceway and was surveying the shop. Without waiting for an answer, the child went to a shelf, retrieved what looked to originally have been intended as a poorly made horse's saddle, a few additional supplies, and placed them on the counter. Diane prayed they could figure out what to do with the materials.

"How much will that cost?" Conall asked, digging in his pack for the little money that he had. Whatever commotion was going on at the center of the city brought about a shout, at the sound of which the girl froze, vigorously shook her head, and ran to the shop's back room, slamming the door behind her. Utterly bewildered, Conall placed a few coins on the counter and the couple left.

"Let's try the inn," Diane suggested slowly.

_"I think I will see if I can figure out what the problem with this strange place is,"_ Zyneth said, taking to the sky with Freytha at his tail.

"Let us know if you find anything."

Stepping into the inn, they were greeted by a slightly disheveled man in his late twenties. "We're traveling north, and we were hoping you had a place to stay," Conall said.

"Certainly, certainly," the man said, eager to do business. "That will be ten crowns." Conall was reaching to hand him the money when the innkeeper's eyes locked onto the silver mark on his hand. "I—I'm sorry," the man stuttered, "we've just rented out our last room. My mistake. Perhaps you could try the... the... down the..." but the sound of a large group of shouting men cut him off.

_"We seem to have a bit of a problem,"_ came Freytha's voice inside the Riders' heads. They sprinted back outside to see what was the matter, stopping in the middle of the road as the two dragons landed next to them.

An angry mob was running towards them, and between various shouted obscenities, one chant resounded above the others: "KILL THE RIDERS! KILL THE RIDERS!"


	7. She Saw It Before You Did

_"Get on!"_ The riders quickly clamored onto the backs of their dragons as the mob began pelting stones at them. Under normal circumstances, Conall would have relished his first flight with Zyneth, but at the moment he was a bit preoccupied with shielding himself from projectiles and glancing to make sure that Diane and Freytha were still with them, which wasn't made easier by the fact that he was struggling to not fall off.

Not until Gil'ead had disappeared in both sight and sound did they finally land on a small, uninhabited island just off the coast of Isenstar Lake. Conall's dismount wasn't graceful, but at least he landed on his feet. Diane issued a low moan as she slid off of Freytha's bare back and landed in a heap. Terrible thoughts filled Conall's mind as he rushed to her side. Had she been stabbed? Hit by a rock? Impaled by one of her dragon's budding spikes?

"Ooh, my legs," she moaned, curling up on her side.

"Are you ok? What's wrong?" Helping remove her tunic—or her lámarae, as they had read the night before—only to find the insides of her pant legs shredded and stained with quickly drying blood.

_"Sorry,"_ Freytha mumbled guiltily, affectionately nudging Diane with her snout as she struggled to sit up.

"It's not your fault," Diane said, wincing as she tried to straighten her legs. "We'll have to cut this cloth off," she said, sitting up and taking a look at herself. After locating a knife in his bag, Conall carefully ran the tip through the thin fabric as Diane gingerly attempted to tear the cloth from where it had stuck to her skin. "I can't get it," she admitted finally, "can you help me to the water?"

Zyneth scooted out of their way as Conall helped his friend hobble to the water's edge, where the dragon had been watching from whilst attempting to examine a couple spots where the stones had struck his underside, making sure that all of his scales were still intact, which over the past two weeks had begun to develop a dark purple hue. Conall struggled to start a fire as Diane closed her eyes, enjoying the relief that came with soaking her sore limbs in the cool water.

"What happened back there?" Diane asked finally. "It doesn't make any sense that they'd attack us like that."

"Yeah," Conall agreed, "I thought everyone pretty much loved the Riders."

What _had_ been the cause of the mad attack on them? Conall wouldn't have believed it had he not been there himself. Growing up he'd enjoyed nothing more than a good story about the Riders, and he knew for a fact that that wasn't at all uncommon. What could have possibly caused the people of Gil'ead to react so negatively? When Grintzintog had contacted them he'd naturally assumed the Rider was just suffering the effects of having faced a foe that Conall had only once ever even heard about in legend, and quite possibly lost a close friend in doing it. Then there was the strange orange stone the elf's dragon had coughed up that currently resided in a pack strapped to the dragon next to him. In Teirm he and Diane had gone to one of the most prestigious schools in the world, and it took being thrust so violently into a new life for him to realize how little he knew about anything that wasn't solely human. They'd learned snippets of other languages, but that knowledge had so many gaps that it now seemed worthless. Everything about his situation was utterly ridiculous, he decided.

"Blast it," Conall grumbled, accidentally banging a finger with the rocks he was using in a futile attempt to light a fire. They had a smidgen of lantern oil left, but were out of matchsticks. "I can't see a thing. You sure you can't breathe fire yet?" he asked Zyneth, who just snorted sarcastically in response. "And when can we start using magic, anyway?" he asked angrily. "I mean, aren't Riders supposed to be able to use spells or something?"

"I don't know, Conall," Diane said, wincing. "I'm a little distracted now."

"But see? If we could use magic, you'd be fine right now. The stupid book keeps talking about this 'Ancient Language' that supposedly has something to do with magic. Does it give any examples? Of course not! I know a few words in dwarvish, elvish, and even urgal, but never have I heard of this stupid 'Ancient Language' business."

_"I bet that's the first thing the Riders will teach us when we find them,"_ Freytha offered soothingly, curling up next to Diane.

* * *

Conall was close to tears by the time he gave up on the fire late into the night. He just felt so useless! He had been absolutely fuming when she'd asked him to give her a little privacy so as to be able to apply the salve on every part of her lower body that needed it. It wasn't at all an unreasonable request, but when he was in a bad mood, just about anything could make it worse. Flying with Zyneth for a while had helped a bit, but on the other hand it'd also made him mad at himself for nearly blowing up at her.

It was also what had given him the incentive to work on the saddle. Every Rider should get a chance to fly as soon as their dragons could carry them. Anyway, he almost felt like he owed her. He couldn't keep her warm. He couldn't heal her legs. He was glad that she was asleep, so she didn't see him in such a fragile state.

_"Of course it's a good thing to do; she needs it,"_ Zyneth said of the saddle, offering a talon to help make a slice in the leather for Conall, _"but I don't see how you got the idea that you owe her."_

_"I don't know,"_ Conall thought back, _"I just feel that as the boy, I ought to do something, you know? Help or something."_

_"Exactly: as a boy, not a man."_

_"Coming from a dragon hardly a fortnight old..."_

_"A _dragon_,"_ the dragon reminded him, _"not a human. We're much more perceptive."_

_"You got that right. I mean, how could I have gone months not realizing that she thought I was into her. For that matter, how could she have ever thought that I was? Completely out of nowhere..."_

_"Well maybe you _were_ sending out a soft mating call, or pheromones, or whatever you two-legs call it."_

Conall chuckled in spite of himself. _"How so?"_ he asked, not really expecting a direct answer.

_"Weren't you especially nice to her? Did you spend as much time with any of the other girls? Who did you always side with in an argument? I may not have been around then, but don't forget that I'm in your head now."_

_"Diane, I suppose," _Conall admitted. _"That is, when we weren't the two opposing figureheads of said arguments."_ He laughed. _"We always argued, didn't we? We still do, I suppose."_ Whenever there was a chance.

_"Look at her now,"_ Zyneth encouraged him. _"What do you see?"_

_"What do I see?"_ Conall saw Diane sleeping, her dragon's tail holding her to its silver-pink body, keeping her warm like he hadn't been able to. Her legs were slightly apart, and she appeared to have wrapped a spare undershirt around her waist and thighs, covering herself while letting the cool air do its healing work. Gentle brown locks formed a wreath around her face and shoulders, spilling onto the grass beneath her and the two arms she used as a pillow. Curled up like that, she hardly seemed half as intimidating as when she was awake. _"I don't know what I see,"_ Conall finally admitted.

_"And was what you told her really true, about never being able to see her as anything other than a friend?"_

_"I wasn't lying,"_ was his immediate response. Then, beginning to doubt himself, _"At least, I don't think I was; was I?"_ There was a long pause.

_"Then that's what she saw,"_ Zyneth concluded. _"She saw it before you did."_


	8. Rumors

"Diane," Conall said the next morning, awkwardly trying to put a hand on her shoulder as they packed up the last of their things, "I'm sorry about last night."

She dismissed it, which almost drove him nuts. He would have preferred her to be openly angry with him than to not know where they stood. Did she just not think of it as a big deal? She'd thanked him when he'd shown her the completed saddle, but at least in his head he thought that it was a slightly subdued thank you. In his head. All night, thousands of pictures and scenarios had made an appearance in there after Zyneth's analysis. The real revelation came as he slowly began to realize that he kind of liked the images he was seeing in his head, the images of him and Diane.

If she wasn't eager to fly again, it didn't manifest itself as apprehension. She just bucked up and hopped on Freytha after attaching her bag to the saddle, though she did clearly wince. "Conall and I will go in on foot once we reach Daret. Zyneth, you and Freytha can wait out of sight until we're out of the city. While we're there, we'll see if we can't find out why we were attacked in Gil'ead yesterday."

_"But what if you need us?"_ Freytha asked.

"Then we'll call you. We should be fine as long as we can fake being left handed until we can buy some gloves."

"As long as we don't have to do any writing."

"Practically half the people in Alagaësia can't write, Conall. We'll have no need to. Anyway, we'll head towards Yazuac as soon as we stock up—probably late afternoon—then camp on the bank of the river. Alright?"

The other three grunted their approval.

Conall repeatedly found himself staring at Diane as they flew. Zyneth's snide comments weren't helping, but at least the dragon had tact enough to not mention it to anyone else. Given how Diane had reacted when she previously suspected Conall's feelings for her, well, he was just glad that she didn't know. If he could keep it that way until his feelings changed, if they would change, if they _could_ change..."

_"There it is,"_ said Freytha, slowly beginning her decent. It wasn't long until the Riders spotted it too. The dragons parked themselves near a lone hill a safe distance from the town. Freytha had to use her tail to help Diane keep steady on her sore legs as she dismounted. They weren't bleeding, but she looked in pain as Conall walked with her into the city.

"Do you want to lean on me?" Conall offered.

"I'm fine," she said, though Conall wasn't convinced

They entered one of the first taverns they came to—after cautiously buying a couple pairs of gloves from the tanner—and took a seat at the bar while they waited for the attendant. "So, we were traveling past Gil'ead the other day and the city seemed in a frightful uproar," Diane mentioned casually after they'd gotten their food, "I wonder what was the matter."

"Where've you been the past week?" the bartender asked sarcastically. "Word's gotten 'round to all the towns and cities by now, though it's mostly the bigger ones who've cause to worry at the moment." The two travelers waited expectantly. "You really haven't heard?" They shook their heads. "They're sayin' a Rider's gone _rogue_," he whispered. "Knocked a hole in that city's wall, 'is dragon beast did. Ilirea will have an uprising on their hands soon if nothin's done 'bout it."

Conall and Diane were speechless. "We... heard Teirm had something attack them from the ocean," Conall lied slowly. They'd heard no such thing; they'd seen it.

"Now where did you hear something like that?" came a sweet voice from behind them. A woman had entered the shop, a woman who didn't appear too much older than them. "I'm Angela, by the way," she said, taking a seat at the bar next to them. "I heard the whole city has been barricaded for nearly two weeks. Not a peep of news. A pity, really; I used to live there you know." But Conall barely heard her. His eyes were fixed on the large cat standing in the doorway, which was standing on its hind legs much like Softpaws the werecat had done.

The bartender ducked into the back room to get some ginger, and the moment he did, the woman grabbed Conall and Diane by their wrists and pulled them outside. "What was...?"

"Shh! No time to explain. My dear Solembum here heard about you two from Softpaws."

"Softpaws? How do...?"

"Listen!" she hissed urgently. "The dark Spirits are getting bolder. You must reach the Riders before he finds you. Now go! Now!" She pushed them into the alley and ducked back inside. 'Like a crazy woman,' Conall would have thought had she not known who they were.

_"What's going on?"_ Freytha demanded.

_"No idea. Meet us at the city gate as soon as you can be there!"_

* * *

"What the hell was that about?" Diane practically screamed once the town was just a speck in the distance.

"No kidding." And a rogue Rider? There hadn't been a rogue Rider since the end of the Rider War nearly three hundred years ago. And what did that bit about the dark spirits getting bolder mean? Why did they have to run, and more importantly, what from?

"That looks like a good spot to land."

* * *

When they reached the Rider outpost between Therinsford and Carvahall the next day, they were shocked to be greeted by, well, no one. The so-called 'outpost' appeared utterly deserted. That wasn't the most disturbing part though. The most disturbing part was that it wasn't there at all! Several piles of rubble, some dying embers, and a lone portion of wall were all that remained.

"What are we going to do?" Diane cried out desperately after their third thorough search of the area yielded no results. Her eyes looked dry, but from the way her voice cracked, tears might not be far away.

"_Well, I'm going to spend the night here,"_ Zyneth said, finally giving his wings a rest and tucking them into his body. Freytha was more reluctant to settle down with Diane so upset, but seeing as they didn't appear to be going anywhere any time soon, she joined Zyneth behind the slab of wall where they could be hidden from the main road. Diane finally brought herself to join them, and Conall went with her. He tried to put an arm around her, but she, of course, wouldn't let him.

The night was long, but the following day was longer. They waited, but no one came. The morning after their second night there, they decided to walk to Therinsford to see if they could find out anything. Their story was that they were cousins traveling to Ceunon from Kuasta to stay with family there, which no one seemed to question. They made conversation with people at the tavern, sharing slightly altered versions of what they'd heard of Gil'ead's troubles and rumors of Teirm's goings-on, claiming to have merely passed by the latter. What they learned in turn was very unsettling.

Rumor had it that two new Riders had emerged from the city, and while that bit was true, it most certainly was false to assume that they had anything to do with the city being in lockdown. One man said he'd heard that the city-state had rebelled and forces from Ilirea were heading to crush the rebellion, though the way this comment sparked an argument with the other patrons evidenced this rumor to be of little value. The story from Daret about a rogue Rider having attacked Gil'ead was quickly countered with claims that the culprit was a Shade, who also happened to be responsible for the destruction of the relatively new Rider outpost where they'd spent the last couple nights, though the townsfolk were all far too terrified to venture anywhere near the place.

One thing was clear: All hell was breaking loose in Alagaësia.


End file.
